


Chief Redlance

by wingthing



Series: The EQ Alternaverse [14]
Category: Elfquest
Genre: EQ Alternaverse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:00:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4694756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingthing/pseuds/wingthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wolfrider elders wish to return to Thorny Mountain, and Swift chooses Redlance to lead them. Soon he faces his first trial as chief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One's Own Way

This year’s dry season was the worst in the memory of the Wolfriders. The heat sucked the life out of the elves and their mounts. The deep pools where they had spear-fished and swum had dried up completely, and the great Green River had become a brown stream. It did not help that Savin continued to remind the Wolfriders that they had only been living in the rainforest of the Great Spur for sixteen years, and that she remembered far worse summers from her own childhood. 

Newstar and Moonsbreath washed the freshly woven linen and hung it to dry between two small branches. The treeshaped platform where the weavers and tanners worked usually overlooked a coursing stream. But now there was only a dusty riverbed. 

“At least the cloth dries quickly,” Newstar sighed. 

“Everything dries quickly,” Swift complained, as she leapt down from a branch overhead. 

“Where were you, chieftess?” Newstar asked. “Was it any cooler up in the canopy?” 

“Barely. I’m starting to think it might be better to go visit Savin’s folk at Green Moon Bay – spend my days and nights bobbing in seawater.” 

Moonsbreath glanced over Swift’s worn leather vest and shorts. “Well, the good news is we have some hides ready for sewing. I daresay the cloth we’ve woven won’t suit you, chieftess.” 

“Maybe the stronger stuff you make Rayek and Dart’s clothes from. But certainly not that fluff,” she pointed to the fluttering linen sheet. “That’s good for a den, but not for a Wolfrider.” 

“Shenshen has asked for a dress after the native human fashion,” Moonsbreath said. “A long pannelled skirt and a top all beaded with shells and little pop-seed husks. And what you do you fancy, my chief, since it’s clear you won’t be wearing those scraps much longer.” 

Swift chuckled. “My skin and this air, and as little as possible in between... unless, of course, you have woven a magical cloth that can cool a fevered elf.” 

Moonsbreath laughed. “If I had, I would be hard at work making as much as I could.” 

Newstar and Moonsbreath stiffened, instinctively sniffing the air. It took Swift a moment later to recognize Clearbrook’s approach. She might now be immortal – lifted above the mean beasts of the world, as Rayek put it – but now nearly anyone could sneak up on her. 

Clearbrook looked equally overheated and miserable. Her silver hair was flat against the back of her neck, and her cropped leathers seemed to hang uncomfortably on her figure, as though she had shrunk in the heat. 

“Hello, Mother,” Moonsbreath smiled. “Have you come to lay claim to the fresh cloth?” 

“Let me wrap myself in it while it’s still wet,” Clearbrook laughed. But when she made eye contact with Swift, the elder seemed unusually solemn. 

**Chieftess,** she sent. **The other elders and I... we would like to call a private council with you. Perhaps tomorrow?** 

**Why not now?** Swift asked gamely. 

Clearbrook was taken aback. She seemed almost sheepish as she nodded. Meanwhile, her daughter and great-granddaughter could only glance from chieftess to elder, puzzled by the sudden change in mood. 

* * * 

Swift met with the elders in Strongbow and Moonshade’s den, one of the highest dens shaped in the massive banyan trees that made up the Great Holt. They preferred the cool shade of the mid-story forest to the heat closer to the ground. Swift expected to find One-Eye and Clearbrook there as well, but she was surprised to see Nightfall and Redlance joining them. Rain was conspicuously absent, despite his rank as the eldest Wolfrider. 

They all looked very uncomfortable, the six of them. Swift felt uneasy too. 

“So...” Swift swallowed. She tried to maintain a cheerful smile, despite the growing feeling that she would be blindsided. “Why have you called this council? How... um... how can your chieftess serve you?” 

The six elves refused to meet Swift’s gaze. Their expressions were guilty as they exchanged glances. “Come now,” Swift laughed weakly. “No one is dying, are they?” 

“Of course not,” Nightfall sat quickly. “We... just want to... suggest something to you.” 

“Yes,” One-Eye nodded. “Now... um... well...” he cleared his throat and began anew. “You’re our chief and our blood kin and I will double-knot the first tongue that wags against you. And under your rule we’ve had a stretch of peace like none we old growlers can recall... but...” 

Clearbrook spoke up. “This world... this rainforest with its floods and its endless heat... it’s not for us.” 

**Aye,** Strongbow sent. **Maybe the young ones can adapt, but to us elders it’s… as wrong as Sorrow’s End.** 

“We miss the white-colds and the new greens, and all the wonder of the true forests,” Moonshade said. “Swift, you must know we would never act without your will... but we were wondering... would it be possible... now that we have the Palace... for the elders to return to Thorny Mountain?” 

Swift stared at them, speechless. 

“You have to understand, Swift, we don’t think your choice to move here was a wrong one,” Nightfall spoke up quickly. “We all remember that year... that terrible white-cold, when the wolves were dying and Pike almost lost his toes to the frost’s bite. And we know everyone has been so happy here – almost everyone. But...” 

“Well... there it is,” One-Eye said. “It just isn’t right... for us.” 

“Is this because of this dry season?” Swift asked. “I know it feels like slow death, but it will get better. In another moon-dance or two the wind will start. Before you know it, the rains will come–” 

**Aye, and we’ll all be drenched like rats,** Strongbow grumbled. **Our wolves will run to the high ground and we will be no better than–** 

**Savin’s folk?** 

**Now... I don’t mind Savin’s folk. But their way is not our Way, and it’s a fool who tries to train a wolf to swim like a fish!** 

“We’re just saying,” Clearbrook interrupted, “that while the younger ones are happy here... we miss the old ways, the forest we know in our blood and in our hearts and in our bones. And now that we have the Palace, now that Suntop has come into his power, now that we can go anywhere in less than a heartbeat...” 

Swift nodded, but her brow was furrowed pensively. She glanced at her old friend. “Nightfall. You’re no ‘old growler’ – you are younger than I am. You cannot stomach the heat?” 

Nightfall smiled softly. “You know me, Swift. You are the seeker, the one destined to lead us to new lands, new ideas, new ways of being. But me, I’ve got my roots sunk down in the Now, and the Way of our mothers and fathers. I can stomach the heat. And I don’t even mind the flooding in the winter. But... my heart will always long for the biting white-cold wind, and the flowering dawn after the gray night, and the sharp scent of pine needles on cool evenings.” 

Swift glanced at Redlance. “And you, cousin?” 

Redlance shrugged, a little guiltily. “You don’t need me here, Swift. These trees grow so fast, so agreeable. You don’t need a treeshaper, just a few staffs of hardwood to make a frame for the floating roots to wrap around. And my heart aches for the old days... for Father Tree and that feeling of... belonging. I know it will be eights of eights before Father Tree ever grows back in the Old Land. But Thorny Mountain is full of the feeling of elves – it is... why, it is birthplace of our entire race.” 

Swift was silent for many long moments, staring at her ankle boots as she considered their words. “What about the white-colds? They are much harsher than those in the Old Land.” 

“We remember,” Moonshade said. “And we are willing to brave them. We would rather face the biting of hunger and cold in Thorny Mountain than endure the floods and droughts of this forest. Every winter I fear we will shrivel up like wood grubs, if we don’t die of the mould that spreads across every spot of dry land.” 

“Aye, and every summer I fear the Green River will finally run dry,” One-Eye grumbled. “It’s as dark as a tanner’s broth this summer. I miss the clear streams of real forests.” 

“The Green River will never run dry,” Swift laughed. “And we can always strain the water through linen to filter out the–” 

“We never used to need to filter our water!” Moonshade exclaimed. “We never used to need ‘linen’ or ‘cotton’ or any woven stuff. We never used to need to rely on new ways, new customs. We want to return to our roots, Swift. We want to be real Wolfriders again.” 

Swift’s eyes widened, and Nightfall quickly intervened. “We aren’t saying that we aren’t Wolfriders here in the rainforest, Swift. And we do not judge those who wish to stay here – who have found happiness here. We are simply saying that... this is not truly what we want. And you once said ‘let each one of you choose your own path.’ This is our path. And we ask your blessing to pursue it.” 

Swift frowned as she continued to pluck at the frayed cuffs of her boots. “I see.” 

“You are not pleased with us, chieftess,” Clearbrook said softly. 

“I... am... a little confused.” 

“You cannot have been unaware that some of us were not entirely happy here,” Clearbrook said gently. 

Swift shrugged. “I thought... the wheres did not matter... so long as we are together, one tribe united.” 

“Our hands need not touch for our hearts to be one,” Clearbrook said. “Grayling and Scouter and Woodlock and the others live in Sorrow’s End – but they are still Wolfriders. Savin’s folk are scattered across the islands south of Crest Point, but they are all Islanders.” 

“Six of you. You can’t make a holt with six elves. Or have you enlisted others?” she asked, a little too sharply. “Hm? Have you already talked to Rain? You’ll need a healer.” 

Nightfall and Redlance looked guilty. So did Clearbrook and Moonshade. Strongbow and One-Eye were unrepentant. **Why? Why do we need a healer?** Strongbow asked. **We’re less than a heartbeat away now that Suntop can fly the Palace. Between him and his sire you can fly a healer to us if we really need one.** 

“Aye,” One-Eye nodded. “Besides, Wolfriders have hunted and howled and thrived without healers many times in the past.” 

“So you’ve already asked Rain and he declined your offer,” Swift muttered under her breath. 

“Swift,” Nightfall began. 

“You say you aren’t challenging me, but it seems to me that you’ve been merrily plotting behind my back for moon-dances!” 

“We’ve only been talking,” Clearbrook said. “Thinking aloud... nothing more. Swift – if you forbid us to go, we will abide by your decision. There is no challenge here.” 

Swift softened at Clearbrook’s words. “Of course I won’t forbid you to go. I’m no Blue Mountain Lord. But give me some time to think on this.” 

“Of course,” Nightfall nodded readily. So did Redlance. 

“Take all the time you need, chieftess,” Clearbrook agreed. 

Swift stood. “I... I will call a new council when I’ve decided the best path to take. So... until then.” With no further farewells, she stepped out of the den and dropped down to the next nearest branch. Moonshade leaned out the den opening to watch as Swift disappeared into the forest understory. 

“I think she handled that well,” she sighed. 

“Paugh,” One-Eye brooded. “That was botched and botched badly. Didn’t you see her hackles shoot right up?” 

“There was no easy way to do it,” Nightfall brooded. 

* * * 

Swift knew every branch and vine of the Great Holt by heart. She followed the well-travelled path down through the understory to the forest floor, some distance from the cluster of dens shaped and built into the sides of the banyan trees. 

Redlance was right. They hardly needed a treeshaper’s skills. Building a den meant little more than asking the tree politely and waiting a few days. 

She walked down the dry river bed. In the wet season it became one of the many Green River tributaries. But in the summer the river otters abandoned their dens and the creek ran dry as the desert. 

The rainforest was a place of extremes. Perhaps it was unreasonable to ask the elders to adapt. 

They had adapted to Sorrow’s End. They had adapted to the Frozen Mountains. 

And they had been miserable. Swift remembered clearly enough. 

Why hadn’t they complained then? Why the silence until now? 

Perhaps she simply hadn’t been listening. 

Why the fuss now? Why did they suddenly decide it was time to leave? 

Because now they had the Palace. 

They had the Palace for the last twenty years. Why now? 

Perhaps they had needed the time to summon their courage. 

They were being selfish, pure and simple. The rest of the tribe was happy here. 

But wasn’t she being equally selfish, wanting them to bend to her way? 

But she was their chief! 

Her patience worn thin, Swift picked up a large stone from the riverbed and threw it into a cluster of blooming flowers. Another stone knocked a pitcher-orchid clear of its stem and into the dense underbrush. A piece of wood wielded as a sword destroyed a bouquet of dancer-vines. New Moon when drawn shredded a web of creepers. 

“Selfish, arrogant strutter-cocks!” Swift growled under her breath as she continued to hack her way through the underbrush. Every sweep of the sword filled her with delight, and she felt almost strong enough to cut through an entire tree. 

**Tam.** 

The sound of her soulname stopped her in her tracks. The rage drained away from Swift and she lowered her sword. She glanced over her shoulder at the elf perched high on the boulder that reined in the seasonal river. 

“You don’t play fair.” 

“Perhaps not,” Venka hopped down from the boulder and strode over to Swift. “But it seemed wiser than simply waiting for your arm to grow sore.” She slipped her arms about Swift’s shoulders and touched her forehead to hers. **Perhaps you’ll tell me what has my mother so upset.** 

Swift sent Venka her memories of the council meeting from start to finish, and the younger Wolfrider listened calmly as the barely concealed resentment washed over her. “I see...” she whispered as Swift finished her tale. 

Swift stepped back. “I don’t understand it. Strongbow, maybe... but Moonshade? Clearbrook? Nightfall? Family and closeness means everything to them. Why do they want to break the tribe up?” 

“I don’t think that’s their wish, Mother. They are right when they say the Palace has the power to unite us no matter what the distance between us. Clearbook is right: Hands do not need to touch for hearts to be one.” 

“They do for me.” Swift touched Venka’s cheek. “I couldn’t imagine living away from you... my family.” She touched foreheads with Venka again. “My Neith,” she whispered. “I could never be apart from you, or Suntop, or Rayek, or Skywise. Not even if the Palace could reunite us in a moment. I couldn’t bear to know you were across the sea... or over the mountains and the plains in the north. I keep wishing the day will come when Grayling will tire of life in the Sun Village and join us here. Family was never meant to be broken up.” 

Venka smiled softly. “You are more a wolf than you give yourself credit for, Mother. Wolves always seek safety in numbers, and a lone wolf will always long for the security of the pack. But when a wolf pack grows too large, it becomes time to split into two.” 

Swift turned away, angry once more. “All they can do is complain. The heat. The droughts. The floods.” 

Venka smiled patiently. “And you don’t understand how anyone could be unhappy here. Because you are so happy here.” 

“And why not? We have everything we want here. Plenty of game. No more white-colds. Oh, Venka, you remember that terrible winter we suffered at Thorny Mountain. Always shivering even when bundled in the heaviest furs. You were nearly gray you were always so cold. Every morning a part of me feared I would awake and find you both frozen solid. And when the wolves got sick – when Nightfall’s died – why would they ever want to return to that?” 

“The white-colds weren’t always our enemy. Don’t you remember the days in the Frozen Mountains? Some of my fondest memories are from those three years.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve tired of the Great Holt.” 

“No, Mother. Of course not. I’ve spent most of my life here. But I’ve spent my life on the move. Sorrow’s End. The Frozen Mountains. The Forbidden Grove. Thorny Mountain. Here. I’ve grown up knowing that home is where you make it. But the others... the elders remember Father Tree too clearly, remember the lessons of their childhood – that home is Goodtree’s Rest, and that it will always be so. They cannot return to Father Tree – not for many years to come. But they can go to Thorny Mountain.” 

“Only six of them. No healer. Not enough hands to form a decent hunting party. It’s madness.” 

“It is their Way. And you cannot deny them that. You yourself have said so many times before.” 

Swift sighed. “Yes. All Wolfriders are free to choose their own Way. But...” 

“It feels like a betrayal,” Venka finished. “Though your head tells you otherwise, your heart is screaming. Your jealous wolf’s heart,” Venka embraced her mother. “Mother... I know your heart well. But it will heal. And in a few days time you will ask yourself while it hurt you so today.” 

As always, Venka’s calm voice seemed to wash all of her tension away. Swift hugged her daughter tightly. **Neith... you do know my heart. You have a gift.** Swift drew back to meet Venka’s lion-gold eyes. “When the day comes for you to wear the chief’s lock, the Wolfriders will be in good hands.” 

“That day will not come for many years – and I have no intention of travelling north with the others. The white-colds are beautiful in their way, but I am a child of sun and heat.” 

“Oh, but at the rate we’re all breeding, the tribe will need to break in two again.” Swift’s smile faltered. “But this Thorny Mountain Holt will need a chief.... another question that begs an answer.” 

“That answer can come tomorrow. It’s almost sunrise – time for this chief to sleep. I’m sure Father is waiting for you. There will be plenty of time to discuss this later.” 

Swift nodded. As always, Venka cut right to the heart of the matter. Any matter. 

Mother and daughter parted ways, and Swift climbed back up to her own den. Most of the elves had already retired to their dens, where they would sleep until late afternoon. Only a few – Dart, Teru, Shale – lingered on the thick branches that served as an aerial highway through the trees. 

Rayek was already dozing inside their den, lying amid a sea of linen sheets dyed blood-red. Swift quietly stripped off her clothes and ankle boots, then slipped under the sheet alongside her lifemate. 

“Hrmm... where have you been?” Rayek murmured, lazily looping an arm around Swift’s waist. 

“Meeting with the elders. You know, some of them want to go back to Thorny Mountain.” 

Rayek nuzzled against her neck. 

“Strongbow with ‘em?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Mm,” Rayek smiled. “Let ‘em go.” 

* * * 

The sun was still high in the sky as two lone elves slipped out of the forest and made their way across the tall grass fields. During the rainy season the Green River overran its banks and flooded the entire area under five feet of water. During the spring many small streams sectioned the plains into dozens of islands. But now all but the deepest pools had dried up. 

One violet Preserver buzzed in the air overhead as Spar and Kimo picked their way through the long grass. “You’re keeping watch, right?” Spar shouted up to Berrybuzz. 

“Fluffyred highthing not be vexed. Berrybuzz looking.” 

“Well, we can’t see through this grass, so we need you to look out for stalking birds. Remember that!” 

“Berrybuzz remembers. No chompbeaks around here.” 

Once again Kimo fretted. “We shouldn’t be out here. By ourselves. With no wolves, no lookouts–” 

“We have a lookout. Berrybuzz is keeping watch. And we both have a wolf’s nose. We’ll sniff anything out long before it reaches us. Don’t fuss, Kimo. We’ll spear ourselves one of those nice longfish, bring it back just as everyone is waking up, surprise our parents.” 

“They’ll want to hang up by our ears. I know Dart will.” 

Spar rolled her eyes. “Well then, you can run home if you like. But I can’t sleep and I’ve got a taste for longfish.” 

Kimo continued to follow Spar through the reeds and grass, his eyes glued to her bobbing tail of red hair – Spar had bound her mane up out of her face, the better to spot the few fish still alive in the drying pools. In another month the water level would drop further and the fish that hadn’t been speared by elves or stalking birds would suffocate from lack of oxygen. But as Spar said, she had taste for fish, and she was determined to have one more this season. And at nineteen, the headstrong Spar refused to let anything get between her and her desires. 

“Dart’s gonna kill me,” Kimo muttered again. 

“So go back to him,” Spar snapped back. “Shivering ravvit. I’m surprised you could stand to be this far away from him already. Usually you’re never more than two paces apart.” She flashed him a catty smile. “He ought to start nursing you for all you leech off him.” 

Kimo threw the same smile back at her. “You’re just jealous because I have a lovemate and you don’t!” 

“I’ve had lovemates!” Spar snapped back, a little defensively. 

“You have not!” Kimo shot back, laughing now. 

“I have so!” 

“Who? Windkin? Yun would never share him. There’s no one else our age.” 

“Never said it was an agemate.” 

“What? Have you been playing with the Islanders? Or did you pick someone at Sorrow’s End? That’s it, isn’t it?” Kimo jogged up alongside her. “You went with the Palace last time it went across the Vastdeep.” 

Spar smiled enigmatically. 

“Who? Who is it? Wing? It’s Wing, isn’t it?” 

Spar shrugged. 

“Halek? No, too reed-thin for your taste. Coppersky? No, of course not – we all know he looks to maidens about as much as I do. Hmm...” 

Spar giggled. 

“Rosh? Shendar? I know – Maleen and Ruffel!” 

Spar burst out laughing. 

“Scouter?” Kimo screwed up his face skeptically. 

“Eww! Don’t joke! He gives me the shivers – always so... intense. He never smiles, have you noticed that? And anyway, Shushen and Leetah keep him tightly wrapped up.” 

“So who? It is Wing, isn’t it?” he pounced on that smile he had seen. 

Spar tried another shrug, but this time her guilty smirk gave her away. “He’s one. But he’s not my first.” 

“You’ve been den-hopping? I don’t believe it.” 

“We aren’t all as... monotonous in our joining as you are.” 

Kimo bristled at that. “I have a lovemate. He’ll be my lifemate one day. I don’t need anyone else.” 

“Well, if it works for you,” Spar shrugged. 

“So who? Who was your first?” 

Spar smiled and waggled her eyebrows. “I never said it was an agemate...” 

Kimo quickly ran through the list of all elves at the Holt in his head. “Pike?” he finally asked helplessly. Spar blinked reflexively, and Kimo pounced. “Pike! It’s Pike, isn’t it?” 

“Not just Pike...” she murmured, a cat’s smile on her lips. 

“Skot? What, and Vaya too?” 

Spar giggled now. Kimo stared at her in disbelief. “Four of you?” 

Spar threw her head back and laughed. “Kimo – you are such a cub!” 

Again the youth went defensive. “I don’t need anyone else,” he repeated. 

“Dart’s that good, is he?” 

Now it was Kimo’s turn to give Spar the cat’s smile. “You have no idea.” 

Spar’s cheeks coloured a little. She could imagine. Pity Dart was so... definite about his inclinations when it came to den-mates. She would have loved to try him out. 

“Come on,” Spar slapped his shoulder. “Let’s go. We have a fish waiting for us.” 

They found the pool. It was now little more than five feet long, and only about three feet wide. Small fish hugged the mud at the bottom of the pool, three feet deep. One lethargic longfish, its whiskers dragging on the mud, lay submerged, struggling to breathe. Kimo was surprised the poor thing was still living. At the length of Kimo’s arm, the fish was a prime meal for any stalking birds or spotted lion. 

“Hah!” Spar jabbed her spear into the pool, and skewered the longfish. She heaved the gray fish onto the bank and killed it with one quick blow to the head. “Look at this! One-Eye will love it – you know he can’t resist a good piece of raw fish.” 

The light breeze changed abruptly, and Kimo thought he caught a scent of something in the air. Rank... like rotting flesh. But the scent was elusive, and soon the breeze changed against, and Kimo lost it. 

“Did you smell that?” 

“What?” Spar was heaving the fish on her shoulder. She would wait to clean it until they returned to the Holt. 

“Stalking bird. I’m sure of it.” 

Sighing, Spar glanced up at the Preserver. “Berrybuzz. See anything?” 

The Preserver was still circling overhead, humming to itself. 

“Berrybuzz!” 

“No worries. No angrytalk.” 

Spar heaved a sigh. “Crazy bug.” 

“We have to get out of here,” Kimo said. 

“Don’t worry so much,” Spar straightened. “All right. Let’s go.” 

They turned from the pool and began to wade back through the tall grass. Suddenly Spar sniffed the air. The wind had changed again and now the scent was unmistakable. “Get down,” Spar cried, dropping the fish and raising her spear. 

Kimo brought up his own spear to the ready just as the giant bird crashed through the reeds. The stalking bird stood well over six feet tall, its horny beak the size of the longfish they had just skewered, its claws as long and curved as New Moon. It impaled itself on Kimo’s spear, but the impact barely stopped its attack. A huge clawed foot lashed out and tore open the elf’s abdomen in one clean slice. As Kimo fell screaming to the ground, Spar leapt at the bird and drove her own spear deep into its red-feathered throat. The bird shrieked as Spar shouted to the panicking Preserver. The stalking bird reared back, flapping its tiny wings and spitting blood, taking the slender elf with it in its death throes. Finally, the bird collapsed to the ground, and Spar fell atop its carcass. 

“Berrybuzz! Wrap Kimo!” she screamed. “Now!” 

But Berrybuzz was already hard at work. A split second later, Kimo’s body was completed wrapped in the gossamer threads. 

“Curse you, bug!” Spar raged as she crawled off the fallen stalking bird. “You were supposed to be watching!” 

“Berrybuzz looked. Didn’t see. Chompbeak musta hidey-crawl through tall-shoots.” 

“It was stalking! That’s what stalking birds do! Poke it!” Spar dropped next to the wrapstuff cocoon and searched for Kimo’s presense. **Kimo? Kimo? Can you send to me?** 

Nothing at first, but then Spar felt a faint little sending star hovering just above the cocoon. Kimo was still alive. But could he survive being removed from the wrapstuff to be healed? She had seen the blow out of the corner of her eye, and she still shuddered at the sight. 

**Rain! Tyldak! Swift!** Spar sent. **We need help!** 

* * * 

Kimo’s cocoon was whisked up to Rain’s den. Spar was left to face her chief’s wrath. 

“What were you thinking?” Swift screamed. “You and Kimo, out on the plains alone, without your wolves, without a lookout? Have you forgotten the rules of the Holt? No one ventures into the long grass in summertime without a party of three strong elves and wolves! Well? Did you forget?” 

Spar dropped her eyes to the ground. “No.” 

“And yet you and Kimo went out alone, in daylight, without so much as a whisper to your parents, without your wolves, hunting fish with nothing but child’s spears and one addle-brained bug as your lookout?” 

“And it’s a good thing we had the Preserver!” Spar replied pertly. Redlance and Nightfall who flanked Spar each took a step back reflexively. Too late Spar saw the rage light up Swift’s eyes, the anger of a challenged wolf. 

“That was not wise, daughter,” Nightfall whispered. 

“What was that? What did you say?” Swift bellowed. “You! Stupid, fool-headed cub! How old are you? Two eights and three! And you think yourself a brave hunter? You think yourself a warrior fit to challenge your chieftess? I swear, if Kimo dies his blood will be on your hands!” 

Spar’s face fell. “D-dies? But... but Rain’s working on him!” 

“He can’t heal wounds through wrapstuff! A healer can touch minds through wrapstuff, but not bodies! He has to cut the cocoon open before he can set to work. You saw the wounds that bird inflicted. Do you think it’s so simple? Wrap them up, call a healer. Wrap them up, call the Palace!” Swift’s voice was rising, her eyes were growing unfocused as the wild anger overtook them. “Leave the safety of the tribe, go off on your own, play at being a little tribe all your own, away from safety, away from your families, and if anything goes wrong there’s wrapstuff and the Palace and everything will work out, but it’s not that simple!” 

**Swift...** Nightfall sent softly. 

The huntress’s voice snapped Swift from her rage. She stared at the penitent youngster and her stunned parents. Muttering to herself, Swift sprang down from the large tree branch and ran off into the underbrush. 

“Mother?” Spar asked miserably. Nightfall held out her arms and Spar embraced her tightly. “Kimo won’t die, will he?” 

“No, sweeting, no. Rain is the greatest healer of our tribe’s history.” 

Nightfall continued to hold her daughter. But Redlance jogged after his chieftess and cousin. 

* * * 

“Swift?” Redlance addressed Swift’s back. “Chieftess?” 

Swift turned around, and her face was stained with tears, her eyes red with grief and fear. “Is that what you want? You and the others? You want to go off to the wild north without a healer, without the safety of numbers?” 

“Swift... you cannot let what happened today–” 

“Can’t I? Can’t I? What happens if Nightfall and Strongbow go hunting alone, since you’ll have so few Wolfriders spread so thin? What if a tusk-hog takes Strongbow down? What if you don’t have a Preserver at your side? The Palace cannot be there in a heartbeat with a healer inside!” 

“Swift, listen to yourself.” Redlance raced up to her. He took her shoulders. “Chieftess. This isn’t you talking. This isn’t the Wolfrider who led us on our great quest, to the Frozen Mountains and the New Land and the Green River. This is fear... fear born of rest and peace and... idleness.” 

“Idle? You think I have been idle?” Swift pulled away. “Have I ever once failed you as a chief? Don’t we have rich hunting grounds? Don’t we have a safe Holt in which to raise our cubs?” 

“Swift....” Redlance smiled sadly. “Before you were chief... you must remember the hard winters in Father Tree Holt... the battles with humans... the long hunts and little reward.” 

“Yes! And I vowed my tribe would never suffer like that again!” 

“And when you became chief, you led us out of those times. You took us across the Burning Waste, into the new world of Sorrow’s End and the Sun Folk, to Blue Mountain, to the Frozen Mountains, then all the way across the Vastdeep and to the New Land. We were always in motion, Swift. Every day was a new adventure, a new quest.” 

Swift frowned. “And the hard times: Winnowill... the trolls... Two-Edge’s madness... the Cry from Beyond... the deadly winter. Those days are behind us now. Quests, wars, temptations of time-journeys – that’s all over! Now we can rest.” 

Redlance shook his head. “And we have. Just as we did in Sorrow’s End. Rest. Peace. Idle times. It was not the Sun Folk and their ways that the elders did not like. It was the idleness. The – what did the Gliders call it? – the stagnation.” 

Now Swift’s voice had turned pleading. “We had hunts. We had full bellies and nights of song and dance. As we have here. What more do the Wolfriders want than to hunt, and to howl... and to be free?” 

“To grow,” Redlance said softly. “To be challenged.” 

Swift blinked. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You think we do not grow here? You think there is nothing to challenge us?” 

“Swift...” Again Redlance took her shoulders. “You have given us a sanctuary here. Where white-colds and humans will never again trouble us. Where we can live in peace and explore the wonders of this forest. The Palace... the Scroll of Colors... they are the greatest of challenges for those who wish to learn the secrets of our kind’s history. And the restless sea offers the greatest adventures for those who long to master it. But Nightfall and I... and Strongbow and Moonshade and the others, we long for the challenge of rebuilding a Father Tree. If I had the power to make the old forests of our youth grow up in a day, I would. But I know I must wait. And so I long to make a new holt at Thorny Mountain, to dust out the old dens and create a new home.” 

“The six of you.” 

“It will not be just the six of us. More will come, some for a year, others for a day. We will be a... a holt with open borders,” he decided. “A territory where all packs may hunt and live.” 

“But the danger...” 

“Risk is a part of life. And a sweet part. Nothing can grow without risk. You know that, Swift. You are scared now. Pain is easily forgotten in times of plenty, and the longer you are content, the more you begin to fear it.” He smiled. “A young cub may fall from the trees many times, but she will always dust herself off and climb up again. But an elf who has sat in the trees for years may fear to take a single step, because the fall seems so much greater, the ground so much harder. Swift, think of today. Two full-blooded Wolfriders and a Preserver on the wing, and they could not avoid the danger. Would a fully armed party with wolves have fared any better? Can you be certain that a bolt of lightning won’t fell our tree in the night, or that an earthquake won’t destroy us as we sleep? I don’t judge you, chieftess. You have taken such good care of us. But I think you’ve forgotten – risk is always present. Certainty doesn’t exist – except... except in the Now. Because the Now admits no doubt, no worries, no second guesses. The Now is a single heartbeat, just as brief and just as precious. And the Now is Always.” 

Swift wiped at her eyes. “Where did my treeshaper learn to speak like an elder?” 

Redlance flushed a little. “I just collect bits of wisdom... like capnuts on the ground. I keep them until I need them.” 

Swift sniffed, then wiped her face again to banish the tears and the swelling. “You’ve made me feel like a perfect fool.” But then she frowned again. “Only six, Redlance? Can you really make a Holt with only six?” 

Redlance shrugged. “Perhaps Spar will join us; I know Nightfall would hate to lose her so soon. Perhaps a few of the youngers ones will decide to join us at first, to help us build. Who knows, maybe Grayling will decide to introduce Hansha to the forest ways.” 

“But no healer.” 

“No.” He chuckled. “Not unless Rainsong or Leetah grows tired of the sun and sand.” 

Swift laughed. “Leetah? In a Holt?” 

“Not likely, is it?” 

“I think you’d sooner find Strongbow becoming a Glider.” 

“It’s good to see you smile again.” 

Now it was Swift’s turn to flush. “Come moonrise it will hit me what a fool I’ve been, and I will want to hit something, I will be so angry with myself.” 

“I’ll warn Rayek.” 

Again Swift laughed lightly. Redlance held out his hand. “Come. We should look in on Kimo.” 

Swift took the proffered hand. Redlance gave hers a little squeeze. 

* * * 

Rain sat back, exhausted. It had been a hard battle. He had made the tiniest slit in the wrapstuff, just enough to slip on hand inside. But the instant the threads were cut time began to work again. Kimo’s torn body wanted to surrender to that time. But Rain had long ago sworn never to lose another Wolfrider, and by sheer force of will he made Kimo’s weak heart beat long enough for him to seal the damage. Fortunately, Berrybuzz had wrapped Kimo before he lost too much blood. A full kick from a stalking bird could bleed a deer to death within ten heartbeats. Rain shuddered to think how much longer Kimo could have endured without the protection of the cocoon. 

Death would have been almost instant... just like Treestump’s... 

Rain forced the memories away and returned his mind to the Now. At length Kimo began to breathe deeper. Rain no longer felt the heat of vital organs beneath his touch, but the coolness of scar tissue. He poured the last of his reserves into his great-grandson and soon the scar faded under his head. 

“We can unwrap him now,” Rain breathed. 

Instantly Dart and Teru were tearing at the confining threads. Newstar fell at her son’s left side, helping them uncover his head and shoulders. Kimo blinked up at her, dazed. 

“Mother...? H-how long?” 

“Never mind, Kimo,” she whispered, and her voice caught in her throat. 

“Father...?” 

“We’re all here, Kimo,” Teru said, leaning forward into Kimo’s line of vision. 

“You little cub!” Dart laughed. “I’m going to give you such a thumping.” 

Kimo smiled weakly. Then his eyes widened and he tried to sit up, but his parents held him down. “Spar!” he cried. 

“She’s fine,” a voice spoke from the shadows of the den. Nightfall crouched just inside the door. “Worried sick about you.” 

“It was all my fault...” Kimo whispered. “Tell Swift... don’t... blame her.” 

Dart laughed again. “Nice try, cub. But between you and Spar, we all know whose idea it really was.” 

“Where is she?” 

“She’ll be along,” Nightfall said, her eyes evasive. “She... well, she’s been beating herself up so badly, the chieftess needn’t have bothered.” 

“No, I needn’t have,” Swift said as she climbed inside the den. Redlance followed behind her. “I owe Spar an apology.” 

“In time,” Nightfall said. “She was in the wrong as well.” 

“I took my frustrations out on her. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.” 

“No... but she should not have gone off on her own.” 

Swift couldn’t phrase the thoughts that followed. Instead she turned and called: “How are you feeling, Kimo?” 

Kimo frowned. “Hungry.” 

Swift laughed. “Well, good. We have a longfish ready to be cut raw and a stalking bird ready to be roasted. But rest now. Nightfall and I will see if we can find Spar.” Swift tapped Nightfall on the shoulder and bade the huntress follow her out into the gathering twilight. Redlance followed them silently. 

“I suppose you and the others are still intent on following this fool idea through?” Swift growled. But it was a friendly kind of growl, one that brought a timid smile to Nightfall’s face. 

“Yes, chieftess.” 

“Chieftess. Hm. And who will be your chief, as you found a new Holt?” 

Nightfall and Redlance exchanged glances. It was clear to Swift that none of the six had contemplated it. At length Nightfall spoke. “That is for you to decide, chieftess. We will abide by your ruling.” 

* * * 

“Now what am I supposed to do?” Swift moaned into the fur pillow. 

Venka’s hands gently worked away the tension in Swift’s shoulders. “You’ll be stiff as a dead tree if you don’t learn to relax, Mother.” 

“Mmmph,” Swift mumbled as Venka massaged a particularly vicious knot between her shoulderblades. “You have a gift. I envy Zhantee.” 

“He seldoms need a massage like this.” 

“How do you manage to be so... peaceful, Venka? Between me and your father you should be as tightly strung as a certain archer’s bow.” 

“Fire and wind breeds water, I suppose.” Venka’s hands moved lower, and Swift let out a little squeak. Venka chuckled low in her throat. “Still ticklish, I see. Remember when...?” 

“Oh, I remember. You’d hit high, and Suntop would hit low, and no matter how I struggled, one of you always managed to get me. Jackals.” 

“We were only five.” 

“You were nine,” Swift corrected wryly. She stretched out her arms, then tucked them under her chin again. “And what am I going to do, Venka? How can I pick a chief to lead them?” 

“It seems exceedingly simple. Which elf do you think is best suited to lead them?” 

“But that’s it! They’re all elders... I mean, even Redlance and Nightfall seem older than their years.” 

“Clearbrook,” Venka suggested. 

Swift frowned. “She’s a possibility. Wise... careful in choosing her words... slow to anger. But I don’t know if she is ready to lead. I don’t know if she would want to lead.” 

“That may be a good sign.” 

“Yes. Those who hunger to lead seldom make wise chiefs. But... she has always been an advisor... one who gives council, not orders. I would not force her into a position she does not want.” 

“Strongbow.” 

“Mph. I think he is too eager to lead. And I doubt he is ready for it. Do you remember what I said to him in the Palace, all those years ago?” 

“That if you were meant to lead the Wolfriders into uncharted territory he was mant to cling to the Way and keep his roots deep in tradition.” 

“Exactly.” 

“And we all know he reminds you of your sire...” 

Swift stiffened under Venka’s touch. “Yes.” 

“But that wouldn’t be why you dismiss him so quickly?” 

“You cut to the quick, Venka. As always. Yes... sometimes I fear Strongbow’s stubbornness will become more. He always adored Bearclaw.... But no. It’s more than that. Strongbow... he is the challenger... the opposing force... the rock against the storm. He is meant for that... made for that, I think. I’m sure he thinks he would make a good chief, and I am certain that if I left them to sort it out as wolves would... Strongbow would become chief. But he cannot be what he is not.” 

Venka nodded. “There is more truth in that than you might think, Mother. Moonshade?” 

“Same problem.” 

“She is the daughter of your grandsire. Blood of Chiefs.” 

“Yes. But she doesn’t have the heart of a chief. She would only bend to Strongbow.” 

Venka smiled. “And we all know you cannot imagine a chieftess bending to her lifemate.” 

“Not Moonshade.” 

“No... probably not,” Venka admitted. “One-Eye?” 

“Possibly. Hard to say. He is so guarded. So... inscrutable.” 

“He is brave. Fiercely protective of those he loves. He would defend them all without hesitation. Their safety would be his highest priority.” 

“Yes. And yet... I wonder... does he have enough faith in himself to be a chief? He has always been a tribemate of unquestioning loyalty. To him, to be chief is to be beyond challenge. It would seem to me that... he has created such an ideal in his mind that he would not think himself capable of taking on the chief’s lock. At least that is how I read him. And yet he is...” 

“Inscrutable,” Venka nodded. 

“One-Eye. Possibly.” 

“Nightfall?” 

“She’s the one that first leaps to mind. Brave, loyal, perhaps the one with the best grasp of the gifts of the Now... and its curses as well. Wise beyond her years. Gentle when she must be, fierce when she must be. Perhaps she is a little young...” 

“But youth is often an advantage,” Venka pointed out as she returned to Swift’s shoulders. 

“Yes. And yet... I don’t know. I cannot rush to any conclusions.” 

“Wise. So, One-Eye. Or Nightfall. Or Clearbrook. Three fine possibilities. Then there’s Redlance.” 

Swift smiled wistfully. “Redlance.” 

“He’s also Blood of Chiefs. Goodtree’s great-grandchild... just as you are.” 

“Yes... oh... I don’t know, Venka. Too many possibilities... too many choices...” 

Venka smiled softly. “Then rest. And think with a clear head tomorrow.” 

* * * 

Swift did not decide the next day. Instead, she called a tribal council. All the Wolfriders, wolf-born and adopted alike, sat on the great wooden platform called the Gathering Place and listened as Swift explained the situation. 

“It will be a smaller Holt than this one,” she said. “A retreat, you might call it. A retreat to a simpler life, before our world was turned inside out and upside-down. A sanctuary where we can rediscover the Now of Wolf-thought, which you all know has been a rare commodity in my time as chief.” She smiled wryly, and a few of the younger elves snickered. “There will be a small founding tribe,” Swift continued. “But it is the wish of the elders that tribemates will come and go as they please, some staying for turns of the seasons, others for mere moon-dances. The days of one Holt and one territory are behind us. Now we as Wolfriders have the freedom to choose where we will live, be it the Green River Forest, Sorrow’s End, or Thorny Mountain. One day soon, I hope, the forests of Father Tree will again be home to a new Wolfrider Holt. As I said many years ago, in Thorny Mountain itself, all paths are open to us, and we all have the freedom to choose our own Way.” 

She smiled, truly smiled now. Hearing it on her own lips, she understood the wisdom of Redlance’s and Venka’s words. There was no reason to be resentful, or wounded. There was no reason to fear. 

Rain was smiling. So was Moonsbreath. But Eyes High chewed her lip nervously, and Newstar seemed glum. Dart shifted on the balls of his feet, and Skywise brooded. At his side, Savin slowly wound one of her braids around her finger and glanced from elf to elf. The ways of the Wolfriders were still unfathomable to her after twenty years spent with her adopted tribe. She searched the eyes of all her tribemates, trying to predict their reactions. 

Silence reigned for several moments. Like Swift, the others were not prepared for the sudden news. Dividing the tribe was such a foreign notion to them all. Then Suntop got up from the floor of the platform, where he had sat wrapped in Quicksilver’s arms. The youth picked his way through the elves towards his mother. 

“Savin has taught us the many uses of the wheel, which her tribe uses as freely as those master-builder trolls. When strengthened with well-crafted spokes, something as simple as a circle can have incredible power. Well... it seems to me that... this is the perfect example. Some of you might brood that we’re scattering our tribe to the winds. Mother...” he gave her a gentle smile and Swift knew that Venka had told him everything. She should have suspected as much. There were no secrets between the twins. 

“But I... I don’t think there is reason to be sad. Or to be worried. Because... well, it doesn’t matter how our tribe scatters. Because were are all connected now. Because... well… even the tribes are becoming one. Because the Great Holt is the hub of the wheel that connects all our kin. Thorny Mountain, the Go-Backs and their lodge, Sorrow’s End, the pirates on their islands, they are all spokes in a great wheel, forever spinning in an endless circle. All elves united. And the Palace and the Grandfather Tree are the hub.” 

Eyes High smiled. Skywise chuckled low in his throat. Savin leaned over and gave Quicksilver a little tap on the shoulder. A silent sending passed between mother and daughter, and Quicksilver smiled a little smugly as she turned back towards Suntop. 

“Well said,” Clearbrook said. 

“He has his mother’s wisdom,” Shale was overheard to say. 

Swift touched Suntop’s shoulder tenderly. **No, Suntop,** she corrected. **You are the hub. They would never have had the courage to ask, nor I to assent, if not for your mastery of the Palace.** 

Suntop blushed a rich copper, then shyly slipped back into the tribe and took his seat next to his lifemate. Quicksilver clapsed his hand and whispered something in his ear that made him blush even more. 

“The Thorny Mountain Holt will be founded in one moon’s time, at midsummer,” Swift said. “This will give its inhabitants enough time to prepare for the white-cold. The founding members will be Strongbow, Moonshade, One-Eye, Clearbrook, Redlance and Nightfall. Will anyone else join them, be it for a day or a year?” 

Dewshine whispered to her winged lifemate. Skot’s reaction was somewhat less contained. 

“We’ll go! Right, Pike? Right, Vaya? We’ll help them get set up – hey – maybe we’ll stay for the winter – this hot sun is making us all soft as fawns. I could use a good white-cold again. How about you, Pike? Vaya?” 

Vaya laughed. “Oh, I don’t know if I want to give up this heat forever. It’s nice never to worry about furs and bonfires to warm the blood. But I think I could take a season in the snow again. Pike?” 

“I seem to be outvoted,” Pike chuckled. “Why not?” He looked over at Swift. “Don’t worry, chieftess. I like seeing my lovemates in skimpy leathers too much to stay up north forever. We’ll come back in the new-green, I think. If... if no one minds...” he glanced over at Strongbow. The archer wore a wry smile as he contemplated spending a long winter with the Go-Backs and Pike, but he nodded his assent. 

“We’d like to go too,” Dewshine piped up, her hand clasped in Tyldak’s. “I don’t know how long we’ll stay... but I’d like to help them set the Holt in order.” 

Swift smiled, a touch of sadness lingering in her eyes. From six to eleven in the span of a few moments. Suddenly the division of the tribe seemed all the more real. 

* * * 

The council broke up, and Swift invited Redlance to join her for a walk. They strode through the underbrush to the dry riverbed that coursed just behind the Grandfather Tree. 

“So Spar will come with you too?” 

“At first. Perhaps for the first white-cold. I think this incident with the stalking bird... I think she wants to be a cub a little while longer.” 

“I know the feeling,” Swift sighed. “She’s lucky to have that chance.” 

“How are you faring, Swift?” 

“A little numb. A little confused. You know, Redlance... sometimes we teach, sometimes we are taught. And these last few days have taught me something about myself... a fear I would have liked never to face.” 

“Fear of losing the safety of numbers.” 

Swift nodded. “Fear of being alone. Ever since Madcoil, I suppose, I have always sought refuge with many. And since the Fire... the flight across the desert.... You saw how quickly I adapted to Sorrow’s End, to the loud shouts of elf-cubs who grew up without fear. How I wanted to stay with the Gliders... until Winnowill revealed her true evil. How I preferred to stay in the Frozen Mountains, with the safety the Go-Backs offered – even when others would have preferred we return to the forests. It wasn’t the unknown I feared, when I wanted to reject the idea of a new Holt. It wasn’t the challenge... the fear of falling. It was the fear of loss. The nightmare of the Great Holt fragmenting, the elves I had helped gather together scattering on the winds... once again to become isolated... alone in a dangerous world without any protection... the circle of safety I worked so hard to build shrinking around me.” 

“Those days are behind us, Swift.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder. “Suntop is right. We are only strengthening our tribe. We are creating great cradles of life, of hope, seeding them throughout this world until...” he smiled at the image that came to him, “until the ripples that we create overlap in a clear pool... and there is no part of this world that doesn’t feel our presence. Every Holt, every elf – in the world you’ve helped me imagine I see them all as leaves on one great tree... a Holt of all Holts... something with a power... even beyond the Palace. All connected... well, I suppose I’m trying to sound like Suntop... and I’m sure I’m failing.” 

Swift stopped in her slow pace, and Redlance came to halt as well. His brow furrowed as he saw the new light kindled in Swift’s blue eyes. “Chieftess?” 

“I’ve been thinking, for several days now, who should be chief of this new Holt. At first I was tempted simply to leave it to all of you to work out. After all, Grayling simply became chief of the Jackwolf Riders, and I could not have planned a better outcome. And did not know if I could choose one among you to lead. But now I see... so clearly.” 

“Chieftess?” 

“I want you to be chief of Thorny Mountain Holt.” 

“Me? No – no, I’m the last one you should pick. What about Strongbow? Or Nightfall? Or Clearbrook?” 

Swift shook her head gently. “Strongbow is a... a sharp flake of flint. Nightfall is a sword. Clearbrook... she is what she calls herself, but even a clear stream is not quite what is needed. Thorny Mountain needs a living Holt, a nurturing vine. Did you not tell me once that in your favourite dreams you were the Father Tree itself? Now is your chance.” 

“I know nothing of leading.” 

“You know more than you think.” 

“But I cannot command.” 

“Then nurture, coax, guide. You guided me through my fear and anger.” She laughed. “Why, you even reminded me of the gifts the Now offers – and that’s no mean feat!” 

Redlance shook his head. “I... I don’t know... I don’t think I have it in me.” 

“Great-grandson of Goodtree. Blood of Chiefs.” 

“I’m no Goodtree. Certainly no Swift.” 

“You don’t have to be. You simply have to be Redlance. Don’t try to lead. Don’t try to be a ‘chief’ as you think a chief must be. Just... be.” 

Uncertainty clouded Redlance’s eyes, but he squared his shoulders. “I... I’ll try. I only wish I had your confidence.” 

“My confidence, cousin?” Swift laughed. “I wish I had yours.” She walked around behind him and gingerly removed the golden circlet in his hair. “Sometimes I wonder what might have happened, had your father Spark been chosen by Goodtree to succeed her, instead of Mantricker.” She began to part the hair at the crown of his head and fingercomb a shock of bright red hair. 

“Then I would have led the Wolfriders into the Burning Waste, and we never would have accomplished what we have under your rule.” 

“Perhaps not. Perhaps we would have done more.” Holding the thick lock of hair up at the crown of his head with one hand, she reached down and undid the little leather thong about her upper arm with her teeth. Catching the thong in her free hand, she bound the lock of hair close to his scalp. “There...” she stepped back and admired the newly bound chief’s lock. 

“How does it feel?” 

“A little itchy, actually,” Redlance fingered his scalp at the base of the lock. “Tight.” 

“You’ll get used to it.” 

“What will the others think? Strongbow, One-Eye... I’m sure they excepted to rise to leadership–” 

Now Swift smiled a little wickedly. “They’ll get used to it.” 

“You’re enjoying this.” 

“A little,” Swift sobered. “But I think they will see the wisdom in my choice. And in time, I hope you will as well. But I will miss you, cousin. I’ll miss your council, your support.” 

Redlance took her hands in his. “I won’t be far. No one will ever be far, now that Suntop has found his gifts. And you’ll come visit. You’ll remember how much you once adored the snow.” 

“And you’ll call, if you ever need the help of more hands.” 

“Of course. But you may be surprised, chieftess. We’ve learned how much many elves can accomplish, I think we’re forgetting what great things can be achieved by only a few.” 

* * * 

The Thorny Mountain Wolfriders, now at twelve-strong, gathered outside the Palace to say their goodbyes. Moonshade wiped the tears from her eyes as she embraced her son. “I will not say farewell, dear Dart, because my head knows I will see you again soon. But my heart... my heart is foolish sometimes,” she admitted, and hugged him even tighter. 

“You’re sure you won’t come with us?” Dewshine asked Windkin. The youth shrugged. 

“You and Father deserve a little time alone together. Besides...” he flushed a little, “I... um... Yun and I...” 

“Would like to set up a little den yourselves, hmm?” Dewshine finished for him. Tyldak smothered a smirk with his hand, and Windkin floated up so he could give his father a friendly punch to the shoulder. 

“The chief’s lock suits you, Father,” Spar beamed up at Redlance. 

**I’m not so sure, yet,** he admitted, once again nervously fingering his new top knot. 

“Mmm, I am,” Nightfall purred, wrapping her arms tight about his waist. 

“If you ever need us, just send for me, Strongbow,” Suntop said to the archer. “I’ll hear you loud and clear.” 

**I can’t say I understand just what you can do with the Palace, cub. But I know with you as its “Master”, our loved ones will never be very far away.** 

“How are you faring, Mother?” Venka asked. 

“Better than I thought,” Swift admits. She glanced over at Pike and Skot, now saying their goodbyes to Shale and Skywise. “It’s going to be quieter here.” 

“The only constant in life is change, Mother.” 

Swift glanced at her askance. “Where did you pick up that little gem?” 

Venka looked down at the white wolf standing alongside Swift. “The High One.” 

“Ah. My wolf is growing talkative again.” Swift gave the wolf a playful rap of the knuckles on her head. 

Rayek took Suntop aside as he finished his goodbyes to One-Eye and Clearbrook. **Are you sure you don’t want me to fly with you, Suntop?** 

**Father,** Suntop moaned. **I can fly the Palace myself. I’m not going to crash it or anything.** 

**I don’t suppose Skywise could join you... just–** 

**No!** Suntop laughed indignantly. **The baby bird is leaving the nest, curse it!** 

Redlance extracted himself from farewells long enough to join Swift and Venka. “I don’t think everyone will be finished until sunup. Farewells aren’t in the Wolfrider blood.” 

“Just think of it as leaving for an extended hunting trip,” Venka offered. 

“Are you sure you and Zhantee don’t want to come along?” Redlance asked. “Take this burden off my shoulders?” 

“Oh, I don’t plan to take on the chief’s lock until I am as old and wise as Savah,” Venka said. “Forgive me, cousin Redlance, but I’ll leave you your burden.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Rayek said as he joined his lifemate and daughter with the new chief. **Just remember, whenever Strongbow challenges you, hit him hard and fast in the stones. He’ll drop like a fly.** 

Redlance’s eyes widened. **You are joking, I hope.** 

Rayek smirked. Swift elbowed him hard in the gut. 

“Well... we could linger on farewells forever,” Redlance said at length. “But if we want a full night of hunting, we had best leave.” 

The elves rushed through the final goodbyes, and then Suntop silently commanded the door to the Palace to open. The illusion of moss and creeping vines on gray rocks disappeared, revealing an entrance into the gleaming interior. Suntop escorted the twelve travellers inside the Palace, and the door sealed up behind him. 

“It’s just... this is first flight alone,” Rayek fretted. 

“He’ll be fine,” Swift said. She remembered Redlance’s words and smiled. “Sooner or later, we all need to fly alone,” she added softly. 

For a split second the disguise fell aside, and the Palace stood before them, all shimmering crystal. Then it disappeared. 

* * * 

The Palace settled peacefully on the rocky plateau where it had first landed twenty years ago. The door opened and the twelve-member Thorny Mountain Wolfriders stepped out into the twilight with their wolves. The summer evening air was cool and refreshing, infused with the scent of pine needles and seasalt. 

“We’ve come home,” Clearbrook whispered. 

“It’s so cool,” Spar frowned. “I’d forgotten.” 

“You were still a child when we first moved south,” Redlance reminded her. 

“Would you like me to stay here for a while?” Suntop asked. 

“No, Suntop,” Redlance said. “I think it’s best if we set to work, the twelve of us.” 

“Don’t worry, cloudhead,” Skot laughed. “We can survive a night without you muckin’ magic-users.” 

“All right,” Suntop smiled. “But send for me if you need anything.” 

“We will,” Redlance assured him. 

At length Suntop retreated back inside the Palace. With a flicker of light, it was gone. 

Moonshade breathed deep of the air. “I didn’t realize until now just how much I wanted this.” 

**Now we will live as Wolfriders were meant to live,** Strongbow sent. 

Redlance listened to the familiar sounds of songbirds, the distant rumble of the sea against the cliffs. It was as if he was transported back in time to that moment, twenty years before, when they had first touched down on the New Land. So much had happened since then. A new tribe discovered. A new way of life begun. And now once again, a change that shook the Wolfriders to the core. Not since the time of Two-Spear had the tribe willingly split up. Now Wolfriders lived and thrived in three Holts. 

Or they would, once they found the abandoned dens in the forest and breathed live into them anew. 

So much to be done before the first sunrise. But Redlance could not resist the instinct to sing with joy. 

He tipped his head back and howled, and the tribe joined in without hesitation. Soon the wolves too added their voices, and the chorus bounded off the mountain peaks. 

* * * 

Suntop heard the call just as he was resurrecting the disguise of greenery around the Palace. Quicksilver had already squeezed through the door to congratulate him on his first solo flight. She raced barefoot across the floor, but drew to a halt when she saw he was not looking at her, but staring to empty space with a wistful smile. 

“What?” 

Suntop extended his senses, sharing the howl with Quicksilver. Encouraged by the smile that graced her lips in turn, he reached out further, sending the sound of the howl out to every Wolfrider in the Great Holt. 

* * * 

Swift was perched high atop the nest Eyes High had built in the forest canopy when she heard the call. Once again she had to marvel at her son’s powers, that he could flawlessly relay each of the twenty-one distinct voices. Twelve elves and nine wolves calling out joyfully into the night. And clearest of the voices was Redlance’s. 

Swift closed her eyes and howled back. And she knew her cousin would hear her.


	2. Growing Pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: brief depiction of infanticide in the middle of the chapter.

Redlance looked over the four culprits with a stern gaze. Pike and Vaya averted their eyes with guilt, but Skot was defiant, and Spar sulked glumly. Redlance’s gaze lingered on his daughter the longest. He knew being chief would be hard. But he never expected he would have to discipline his own daughter for breaking one of the cardinal rules of the Holt. 

“What were you thinking?” he demanded. “Building a fire – on the ground – less than one hill away from a human encampment!” 

“We were hungry...” Spar mumbled. “And deer meat just doesn’t taste the same raw...” 

“We agreed! We agreed that we would light no fires until the humans moved on.” 

“They’re been here for two moons already,” Skot growled. “They’ll probably stay for the white-cold at this rate.” 

**So you felt that gave you the right to defy the laws of the tribe?** Strongbow sent angrily. **No fires, especially not on the ground. No tracks. No sign of our presence. If the humans learn there are ‘demons’ in the trees they might never leave.** 

“What if they had found you? What if they had seen the smoke and gone to investigate?” Redlance snapped. 

Spar rolled her eyes. “They’re only humans...” she muttered under her breath. 

Nightfall winced. Pike edged away from Spar on the tree branch. Skot chuckled under his breath. 

“Only humans?” Redlance stammered, his voice pained. “Oh, Spar... only a cub could say that. Have you forgotten all we’ve told you... the beatings, the killings... Tanner’s needles – the fire! No!” he snapped when she tried to speak. “No, Spar. You listen. We don’t know what those humans are like. We don’t know what they’ll think of us. What we do know if that humans fears the unknown, and what they fear, they tend to attack. Now I judged it safest for us to stay in the trees, to keep our presence a secret from these strangers. And all of you agreed to abide by the rules. And now – for a hank of roast meat – you and Pike and Vaya and Skot could have cost us all dearly. Spar – it’s been less than four eights since I was strapped to the Pillar of Sacrifice, beaten, tormented, my throat nearly slit by warriors who thought their ‘god’ demanded my blood. We cannot take the chance that these humans here are of a nicer sort. We cannot let them see us. We cannot let them even suspect our existence. I expected as much from you, Skot. You’ve always flouted the rules. And you, Vaya. But Pike? I thought you knew better. You were there at Father Tree. You were there when One-Eye lost his eye to them. You were there when Crescent died. When the Holt burned. You should know better. You should set a better example for your chief’s daughter.” 

“Don’t blame Pike!” Spar shot back hotly. “It was Skot’s and my idea–” 

“I know!” Redlance threw up his hands. “I can recognize your hand in this. You – you have to think, Spar. You can’t just do whatever you want, heedless of the danger. I know you have no idea just how we suffered at the hands of the humans in the Homeland. But I expect you to trust your parents, trust your chief, and obey the rules of the Holt. If you can’t, then I’ll send for the Palace and you can go back to the Great Holt. And that goes for you, Skot. And you Pike, and Vaya. This isn’t some game. We are trying to build a new Holt, a new sanctuary for our kind. This is serious – deadly serious. And if you can’t accept that, then you can all go back to the rainforest.” 

The four conspirators bowed their heads. 

“You are all confined to the trees until I say so. You are not to set a foot on the ground without my permission.” 

Again Spar’s temper won out. “That’s not fair!” she cried, springing up from the tree branch. Pike grabbed the hem of her tunic and pulled her back down. 

Redlance stared down his daughter. “It is not for you to decide what is and is not fair, cubling,” he ground out, and Spar recoiled at the icy resolve in his eyes. 

Redlance turned and strode away from the four elves. Spar tried to follow him, but Nightfall and Pike each lay a restraining hand on her shoulders. Strongbow pierced each of the culprits with a glare that told them he would be watching them, then followed Redlance. 

“Mother...” Spar turned to Nightfall for support. But there was was little warmth in the huntress’s eyes. 

**Mother, he’s not being fair.** 

**And your lighting a fire on the ground, endangering our Holt – that was? You’re not a little child any longer, Spar. You must learn to control your impulses.** 

**But... Father’s never spoken to me like that before!** 

**He is chief, Spar. You must not expect special treatment from him.** 

Spar turned her back to Nightfall. **He looked at me... like I wasn’t even his daughter.** 

“You feel he hurt you?” Nightfall asked gently. 

“Yes!” Spar waited for vindication. But Nightfall only shook her head. 

“No more than you did him.” 

* * * 

Nightfall found Redlance sitting alone high above the human encampment. The humans were just bedding down for the night. There were a dozen in all. Five full-grown males, two lanky juveniles, four females of various ages, and one nursing infant. 

**They continue to sleep on the open ground,** Nightfall sent. **No tents, no huts, not even a thatched roof propped on staffs. A good sign.** 

**But they’re still here.** 

Nightfall sighed. The travelling tribe of five-fingers had arrived two moons ago, and by their haphazard camp and bound furs filled with belongings, the Wolfriders expected them to keep moving. 

But they stayed. 

**How is Spar?** 

Nightfall shrugged. **Angry. But it will pass.** 

**I feel terrible.** 

**Don’t. You did what you had to. Spar has to learn. She is growing up, and challenging, as all young wolves do. But she must learn that she cannot escape consequences because her father is chief. Indeed, she is held to a higher standard than the others, because of your position.** 

**She hates me, doesn’t she?** 

**Of course not.** 

**I want to run back to her and apologize.** 

**You know you cannot. She was in the wrong, not you. And as chief you must be firm. Else you might find yourself challenged by all sides.** 

**I don’t know how Swift does this. I don’t know how anyone does this.** 

**You are doing well, Ulm. You have lead us well since midsummer. The tribe has no complaints.** 

**I don’t know how much longer we can sit here, on top of a fire-ant’s nest, trying not to move, trying not to be stung.** Redlance sighed. **I think it’s time to call a council.** 

Nightfall lovingly stroked the little braid that fell in front of his right ear. **Tonight?** 

**Yes. But not just now. Later, after Daughter Moon passes overhear. Let tempers cool a little.** 

Nightfall bent her head and dropped a kiss to his bare shoulder. Together they sat and watched the humans gradually fall asleep. 

* * * 

Spar’s rebellious spark was well extinguished by the time Redlance called the twelve members of the Holt to council. Nightfall sat at her daughter’s side, a hand on her shoulder as both comfort and restraint. But Spar kept her eyes to the bark beneath her legs. 

“We hoped the humans would leave us in a matter of days,” Redlance said. “Still they show no signs of breaking camp. Yet they show no signs of fortifying their camp for the coming white-cold. Perhaps they will move before the death-sleep entirely envelops the mountain. Perhaps they mean to stay permanently. We cannot assume anything. I will hear any suggestions you have. What are we to do about the humans?” 

“Well...” Pike raised his hand bashfully. “I know you probably don’t want to hear from me–” 

**Pokin’ right we don’t,** Strongbow grumbled. 

“But... maybe this isn’t as bad as we think. I mean, the humans in the south are friendly. They trade with the Islanders and the trolls. And they respect our borders. I mean, Savin scared off an entire hunting party with a few words. Maybe... maybe all the humans in the New Land are like them. Maybe... if they know we’re here... they might leave.” 

“We can’t take that chance,” One-Eye growled. “We could have another war at Father Tree on our hands.” 

“Yes,” Clearbrook said. “I remember when Bearclaw decided that the humans at Father Tree were no threat to us – all we had to do was scare them a little and they would flee. And we didn’t see the harm in it, at first. We paid for that mistake.” 

“Now, I think Pike’s words have merit,” Tyldak spoke up. “The Hoan-G’Tay-Sho worshipped us at Blue Mountain. The humans in the Great Spur think of us as harmless trickster spirits. Perhaps... the humans at your Father Tree are simply... abberations.” 

“No,” One-Eye said. “Swift and Rayek were nearly killed by humans several days’ journey from Blue Mountain. And Savah’s Rootless Ones fled from the forests and moved to the desert to escape humans.” 

“Humans have always killed elves,” Moonshade said softly. “Ever since the first man killed the first High One, they have hunted us. Your Hoan-G’Tay-Sho were nothing but mindless pets, Tyldak. And the humans of the Great Spur are the ones who are abberations.” 

“Trying something new never hurt anyone,” Skot said. 

**Hold your tongue if you have nothing to say,** Strongbow sent, and Skot winced at the sending. **Swift may have filled all you younglings’ heads with notions about the ‘new’ and the ‘unexplored.’ But taking the unproven trail kills.** 

“So some say we try to contact the humans,” Redlance said. “Reason with them. Strongbow, you’ve made it clear you don’t think humans can be reasoned with. What do you propose we do?” 

**Drive them out,** Strongbow sent. 

“How?” Clearbrook asked. 

**Set our wolves on their camp. Drive a herd of longhorns through the valley and trample them. Or slit their throats as they sleep and feed them to the pack.** 

“War,” One-Eye said. “That is no answer.” 

**It is not war. It is twelve humans! And only nine are of fighting strength. We have beaten far greater odds before.** 

“There may be more,” Clearbook said. “For all we know, they are simply the advance scouts of an entire tribe.” 

“We will not kill,” Redlance said. 

**Then drive them out. We can discourage them without revealing ourselves. Destroy the beehives near their camp and let the swarm sting them. Sneak itchleaf sap into their water-skins and watch them gasp as their throats close up. Howl every night until they are frightened away by the sounds of eights upon eights of wolves.** 

“Or until they decide it’s time to hunt wolves!” One-Eye snapped. “And we would be right back at Father Tree, living in fear.” 

“One-Eye, what do you suggest?” Redlance asked. 

“Leave,” One-Eye said. “Start a new Holt further up the mountain. Perhaps on the other side of the mountain. The humans aren’t so many that we cannot simply move to avoid them.” 

**Like a cluster of scared tree-wees?** Strongbow demanded. 

“Yes,” Moonshade fretted. “If we run every time the humans come, we will never be safe. The humans are always moving, always breeding and spreading.” 

**If we don’t take a stand now, we might as resign ourselves to life on the run,** Strongbow sent. **Wasn’t the whole point of Swift’s quest to unite all elves so we would never need to run?** 

“But I doubt she meant us to go to war with humans,” Nightfall said. 

**Twelve humans!** 

**And when twelve humans become twelve eights?** Redlance sent. **And when they become twelve hundred?** 

**All the more reason to act now! Wolves defend their territory from threats. They don’t turn and run!** He glared at One-Eye and Clearbrook. 

“Don’t tell me what a wolf does and does not,” One-Eye got to his feet. 

“Everyone,” Clearbrook said calmly. “A pack divided cannot thrive.” 

“You can tell us not to argue,” Moonshade muttered. “You cannot force us to agree.” 

“All right,” Redlance said. “Who votes that we move further up Thorny Mountain?” 

One-Eye, Clearbrook, and Nightfall raised their hands. 

“Who votes that we drive the humans out by tricks and force?” 

Strongbow, Moonshade, Vaya and Skot raised their hands. 

“Who votes that we try to contact them, even reason with them?” 

Spar and Tyldak raised their hands. Pike squirmed in his seat, but did not raise his hand. 

“And who votes that we do nothing for now?” 

Dewshine and Pike raised their hands. So did Redlance. 

“All right. We are clearly divided,” Redlance said. “With so much at stake, I say we do nothing rash. Tyldak, Dewshine. Tomorrow night you will both go scouting for a location for a new Holt. Skot, Vaya, you are allowed on the ground as long as you are with either Strongbow or One-Eye. We need your spears in the hunt. Pike and Spar, I am assigning you both an important task. You will take turns, nights and days, observing the humans from the treetops. Do not let them see you, but follow them wherever they go. Learn the way of their pack. Discover all you can about them. For now there is no rush. But if the death-sleep descends and the time comes to smoke meat for winter and the humans continue to linger here, then we will have to decide what to do.” 

Strongbow grumbled audibly. One-Eye and Clearbrook exchanged worried gazes. The council broke uneasily. 

Guide me, Goodtree, Redlance prayed to his ancestress. Let me protect Thorny Mountain as you protected Father Tree. 

Spar approached him uncertainly. “Father?” she asked. “Do... should I...?” she fumbled for the words, unable to express her regret. Her pride was still stung. He could see it in her eyes. 

He spared her further unease, and wrapped his arms about her tightly. “Take care, Spar. Don’t endanger yourself. Just watch. Listen. The entire tribe is counting on you and Pike. Who knows, you might uncover the key to living side by side with the humans.” 

A tremulous smile tugged at her lips, telling him all was forgiven. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered, and hugged him again. 

He only hoped he could handle the humans as well as he could his wayward daughter. 

* * * 

The days passed, and summer turned to autumn. The first of the leaves were beginning to turn when Redlance ordered Spar and Pike to keep watch over the humans. Soon the entire mountain was ablaze with colour. Moonshade made Redlance a new set of leathers in coppers and golds, and now the chief moved silently through the trees, perfectly camouflaged against the backdrop of falling leaves. 

Spar had never been much of a night-owl, and she gladly took the day shift while Pike slept with Skot and Vaya in their large den. The sun was just beginning to set, enhancing the vibrant colours of the forest, when Redlance joined Spar at her little roost above the human camp. 

**They still don’t set up tents or huts,** Spar sent. **When it rains, then simply curl up under their sleep-furs – it looks like they know how to treat the hide to waterproof it – at least a little bit.** 

**What have been able to learn about the pack?** 

**They don’t seem as smart as the humans in the south. Their clothes are less well made. So are their weapons and jewellry.** 

**Less skilled does not mean less intelligent,** Redlance reminded her gently. **The humans of the Homeland did not have the skills of the humans of the rainforest, but they were easily as crafty.** 

Spar pointed to the largest of the humans, a white-bearded craggy-faced man who was as stout as he was tall. **His name is Ororik, and he’s the leader, as far as I can tell. That female there with the braided hair is the first mate. Her name is Ullal. But Ororik also mates with the one with the newborn,** she indicated the younger of the adult women, with the babe at her breast. **Her name is Essanassi – or perhaps it is the child’s name. I can’t tell. I think the two younger males are Ororik’s children by Ullal,** she pointed to the smallest of the adult males, then the eldest of the two juveniles. **I don’t know who the male child belongs to. One of the other females’, I suppose.** 

**Is Ororik the only one with two mates?** Redlance asked. He wondered whether these humans joined freely the way elves did, or kept to one mating as the humans of the Homeland seemed to. 

**I think so. Perhaps it is a chief’s priviledge,** Spar shrugged. **The other two women seem to belong to the next biggest men after Ororik. The males dominate the females.** 

**Aye. As they did back in the Homeland.** 

**Through force, sometimes,** Spar added, disgust in her sending. **I saw Ororik give Ullal a beating the other day, when she was too slow in her tasks. But Ororik has struck the child as well.** 

**Humans rule by fear and force,** Redlance decided. **Like a ragged wolf pack. One without real discipline. A chief wolf who ruled as Ororik does would be run out of the pack. Yet no one challenges him?** 

**Not directly. But,** Spar smirked now, **Pike said he saw something interesting the other night. Did he tell you?** 

Redlance shook his head. **What?** 

**The smaller of the adult males – I think he is Ororik’s eldest son. Well, Pike said he saw him joining with the nursing mother in the bushes some distance from camp. In secret, he thinks.** 

**And she is Ororik’s second mate.** Redlance smiled wryly. So the youngster was challenging his father for leadership by secretly mating with the old man’s woman. Young male wolves often courted the alpha female of the pack when they sought chief wolf. Perhaps humans were not so difficult to understand after all. 

**Anything else? Any words you can understand?** 

Spar frowned. **Well... I think “Essa” means “yes” and “Eida” means “no.” “Oh-war-ay” seems to mean “go.” Ororik says it when he orders the males to go hunting, or the females to gather roots. When he is very angry he curses “Gah-tah” at the others.** 

Redlance chuckled. **“Dung-brained zwoots,” perhaps.** 

**No, worse than that. They seem to be very afraid of that word. I think... it’s more like “You are meat to be wasted.” He likes the way they shudder when he says it. So he says it a lot.** 

Redlance smiled. **You’ve been paying careful attention. ** 

**Oh, yes. And they all say “Ah-say-ahn” to Ororik when they return to camp, and before they bed down for the night. It could be a greeting. “Shade and sweet water” for humans.** 

**Mm, or “hail, chieftain,”** Redlance sent. **Well done, Spar. We may need to learn their tongue soon enough.** 

**How are Dewshine and Tyldak doing with the search?** 

**Good. They’ve found several sites where we might make our home. And Tyldak’s enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings.** 

**It must be hard for him, not to fly when the humans might be watching. He can’t really get around in the trees without spreading his wings. ** She was silent a moment. **Father... I don’t think Strongbow is right – not when we says we should fight them. But I agree with him about one thing. It isn’t right to flee. We can’t run from humans forever.** 

**Oh, Spar,** he touched her hair. **You are so young. You were still a child when we left here for the rainforest. You cannot imagine what it was like... before. Sometimes... it’s better to run. Do you know why our line did not become chiefs until now? Do you know the howls for Goodtree’s family?** 

**Your grandmother Speedwell died. And when Goodtree was dying, she named Mantricker Blood of Chiefs instead of your father.** 

**Mm.** Redlance nodded. **Because Goodtree rescued a human child, Bearling, when she was pregnant with my grandmother. Because Bearling went back to live with the humans and became Egaruk. And because Egaruk returned to the Holt with his new human family. They poisoned the wolf-friends. They killed my grandfather Fireweed. They killed my grandmother Speedwell. They left my father Spark an orphan. And when the time came to pick an heir, he deferred to his uncle Mantricker.** Redlance turned pensive. ** And when Mantricker died, there was no hesitation – the chief’s lock went to Bearclaw. And my father was content to be the tribe’s treeshaper. He changed his name to Kindle when Mantricker was still a cub, and he always said that that was how he liked to be thought of – as a gentle hand kindling a steady flame, not as a bolt of skyfire. Not like Mantricker and Bearclaw.** 

Redlance took Spar’s hand and led her deeper into trees, out of earshot of the humans below. “You know... I wasn’t his first child. Kindle Recognized once before... when Bearclaw was still a cub.” 

Spar stared at him, dumbfounded. “You never told me before. You had a brother? A sister?” Redlance nodded sadly, and Spar’s eyes lit up. “I had an aunt? What – well – who was she? What was her name?” 

“She didn’t have one. She was stillborn.” Redlance hung his head. “Father was devastated. I remember Joyleaf telling me that he never really smiled again until he Recognized my mother Fawnspot.” He smiled sadly. “I remember... once, I asked him: ‘Why aren’t you chief, Father? You were the child of Goodtree’s firstborn. You should have been chief.’ And he just shook his head and said, ‘A chief’s lot is only sorrow.’” 

“What did he mean?” 

“Goodtree lost her firstborn. So did Mantricker – a cubling born to Brightwater who died of the foaming sickness. So did Bearclaw – a little boy born and lost before Joyleaf’s birth. And so did my father. And he lived in fear that I would be taken from him as well. Mother and I.” His green eyes darkened with sorrow. “I remember... Father once said a curse hung over the line of Goodtree. Because she brought a human into the Holt... little Bearling, who grew up to play a part in Speedwell’s death. Oh, I never believed in the curse,” Redlance said quickly, when Spar looked at him strangely. “Well... maybe some nights I did... when I was little, when the thunder rolled overhead and the noise frightened me. And... once more...” 

Spar shivered at the darkness creeping over his eyes. “Father?” 

Redlance could not answer her aloud. Instead he sent her an image, a blur of sensations and emotions. Hot blood spilled against a cold stone. Frayed woven ropes digging into the sensitive flesh of the wrists. Fire, shadows. The sound of a whip cracking overhead. 

“Oh....” Spar swooned forward, and Redlance caught her in his arms. He cradled her against him, stroking her hair. 

“I’m sorry, Spar. It... I didn’t think you’d understand... not unless I showed you, just a glimpse.” 

Spar hugged him tightly. **No – I’m sorry, I’m sorry,** she stammered, thinking of the many risks she had taken. 

At length Redlance set her back. “No. There was no curse. Because the High Ones blessed my father with two gifts. One, that he died before Mother. It is always the luckier lifemate who goes first. Two... that he died before the humans returned to our forest. And yet... sometimes I wonder... what might have happened, had he still been living then?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Redlance shrugged. “Oh, I’m just dreaming, Spar. Something Swift said to me... when she wondered what might have happened if my line had been the line of chiefs. As we’ve been watching these humans... waiting, hoping they’ll leave us in peace... I keep wondering what my father would do. If Kindle had been there when the Followers of Gotara came to Father Tree... might he had challenged Bearclaw for their shared birthright? Might he have led the Wolfriders far away from harm... oh, what am I doing?” he moaned. “Stay in the Now. Stay in the Now...” he murmured. 

Spar put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Father. You’re a fine chief. I’m... I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden.” 

“No, no, Spar, of course not. I’m so glad... so glad you came here with me.” He touched her cheek fondly. “You and your mother keep me in the Now. You remind me... a chief’s lot isn’t sorrow. Come, let’s return to the Holt. Pike can come and take over your watch.” 

* * * 

The mountain continued to molt red and gold. Three eights of days passed since Spar and Pike began their watch overhead the human camp. The two observers gradually deciphered more words of human speech. More, they began to notice a disturbing trend. Ororik did indeed rule through fear and force. He bullied his women and the younger males, and the other hunters did not challenge him. Only one time, when the Ororik threatened one of the other women, did that woman’s mate stand up to him. 

But more dangerous was the evidence that the humans were settling for the season. The women began to build a thatched lean-to against the largest rocks at the edge of the little clearing. The men smeared their faces with deer blood and danced under the full Daughter Moon. When it was Mother Moon’s turn to wax to full, the men erected a crude cairn of stones on a nearby hilltop. 

**They’re building an altar,** Strongbow growled. 

“I’ve heard their prayers,” Spar said. “I think they worship something called ‘Threk-kahn.’” 

“Might as well be Gotara,” Moonshade brooded. 

“I think Ororik is afraid of this Threk-kahn,” Pike added. “He trembles when he prays. These humans fear their chiefs, and their chief fear their gods.” 

**All they understand is pain and fear,** Strongbow sent. 

“They don’t have nearly enough supplies to survive the coming white-cold,” Clearbrook reasoned. “They must be planning to move south before the first snowfall.” 

“I say we move,” Tyldak said. “Further up the mountain, out of their territory.” 

“I agree,” Nightfall said. 

**Paugh! And we run.** Strongbow sneered. **And we keep running!** 

“We do nothing rash,” Redlance said. “For now... we wait...” 

**How long will we keep sitting here like helpless treewees?** Strongbow demanded. 

Redlance had no answer for him. 

* * * 

The morning songbirds were just beginning to sing when Vaya crawled inside Spar’s little den, shaped off the side of Redlance and Nightfall’s tree. The young Wolfrider was fast asleep, her face buried in her furs. 

“Wake up, cubling,” Vaya nuzzled her shoulder affectionately. 

“Mmph... not now, lovemate...” Spar moaned. 

“Well, I’m flattered, but I didn’t come for that!” Vaya laughed, whipping the blanket off Spar’s back. “Up, up. It’s time for us to sleep and you to get up.” 

Spar ran her hands through her hair and reached for her leathers. “You know,” Vaya said. “It’s not very fair of Pike to make you sit up every day. You hardly get to spend any time with the rest of us. Don’t let squirrel-cheeks push you around. If you want to take the night shift, then take it.” 

“No, I don’t mind,” Spar fastened the elk-tooth toggles of her tunic. “The humans are more active in the day. It’s something to watch, really.” 

“Sounds boring. Muckin’ five-fingers just staggering around and beating each other up.” 

“No, it’s not like that. I think Father has the right idea. They’re like a kind of wolf we’ve never seen before... like a pack of near-wolves!” her eyes lit up and she smiled at the comparison. “They have pack rules, just very strange... and very brutal ones. But they are rules. And if we can understand them... then maybe we can get along with them.” 

Vaya shrugged. “I like the Great Spur humans better. They keep to themselves.” 

Spar pulled her leather trousers on. “I’m starting to see why Father and Mother wanted to come here, rebuild the Holt. It really is like a new world. And watching these humans, trying to get inside their heads and figure them out – maybe it was my punishment to start, but I’m really enjoying this.” 

“Blech. It’s that cursed curiousity of your kind,” Vaya laughed good-naturedly. “If it’s not in sight – or better, in my hand – it’s none of my concern.” 

Spar slipped on her boots. “All right. Let’s see what the humans are up to today.” 

She was just starting to follow Vaya out into the pre-dawn gloom when a sending star stopped them both in their tracks. **Come quick!** It was Pike. **Something bad’s happening with the humans!** 

Spar and Vaya jogged through the treetops. Redlance and Strongbow soon fell into stride alongside them. The four of them joined Pike at his little perch above the human camp. 

Ororik was shouting at the elder of his sons, gesturing wildly and pointing at the younger of his mates, who was craddling her baby to her breast and huddled against Ullal for protection. The infant screamed, and its cries seemed to be infuriating the chieftain further. 

**What happened?** Redlance asked. 

**Ororik found... um... what’s-his-name...** 

**Tallal?** Spar supplied. 

**Yeah. His son, Tallal, joining with Essanassi, there,** he indicated the young mother. **He’s hopping mad.** 

**This isn’t good,** Spar sent. 

**A challenge to a chief’s power,** Redlance sent. 

**He’ll punish Tallal, now,** Spar agreed. 

Ororik cuffed Tallal about the head, then bloodied his nose and brought him to the ground with hard blows of his fists against the youth’s shoulders. When the boy was bleeding on the dirt, Ororik turned to Essanassi. The elves winced, expecting her to endure the same treatment. 

They were wrong. 

Ororik didn’t strike Essanassi. Instead he seized the little baby from her arms. Essanassi screamed and groped for her child, but Ullal held her back. As the elves watched, horror-struck, Ororik carried the screaming baby to the edge of camp by its ankles, then smashed its little body against the rocks over and over. 

Spar let out a scream. Pike clapped his hand over her mouth, but a split-second too late. 

It didn’t matter. The humans hadn’t heard her over the sounds of the grieving mother. Essanassi tore away from Ullal’s grasp and threw herself on the mangled remains of her infant. Ororik turned cooly and kicked her in the stomach. 

The other humans stood by, unwilling to interfere. The bloodied Tallal pulled himself to his knees and crawled away to the perimeter of camp. One of the other women hastened to comfort Essanassi, but Ullal, the matriarch of the camp, remained unmoved. She calmly took the little body from Essanassi’s grasp and walked off, presumably to dispose of it. Ororik was now barking order to the other hunters, as though the murder hadn’t happened at all. Essanassi was now wrapped about the bloody rock, weeping loudly. 

Spar was convulsing with sobs. Pike and Vaya flanked her, arms about her and hands over her mouth, shushing her softly, rocking her as they might a young cub. Redlance swallowed hard, closing his eyes tight to fend off an attack of vertigo. 

**Why?** Vaya demanded. **Why did he do that?** 

Strongbow doubled over, his hand over his mouth. He shuddered, fighting the urge to vomit. 

Redlance stared at the bloody rock, a miniature pillar of sacrifice. Rage and disgust choked him, but he forced himself to rise above instinct. Suddenly, he understood. 

**The child... the old man couldn’t be certain it was his. It might have been Tallal’s. So he killed it.** 

**Disgusting,** Strongbow sent. 

**But not unknown to forest beasts. Even wolves... sometimes...** 

Strongbow turned and climbed back into the trees. Spar gestured weakly, wanting to follow, and Vaya helped her to rise. Together they climbed back into the cover of the forest, leaving Redlance and Pike to watch the scene below. 

“Owaray!” Ororik shouted at the men, when they lingered at the side of the fallen Tallal. “Eida, Owaray cha!” 

Reluctantly the men abandoned the youth. Ororik dragged his son over to the rock, and left him to contemplate the spilled blood of the infant. He pulled the comforting woman off Essanassi and sent her on her way. 

**I thought...** Pike sent. **I thought... Ullal would protect the baby.** 

**She’s the chieftess wolf,** Redlance sent back. ** She chose to protect her rank. It happens, sometimes... with wolves... when a lower-ranking female breeds without permission...** 

**It isn’t right! Humans – they think they’re better than the forest. They think they’re better than the beasts, and that we’re demons. But they’re the demons!** 

**No, Pike, ** Redlance sighed. **They’re just... beasts. Vicious... ruthless beasts. No more. No less. Come on.** He tapped Pike’s shoulder. **I think we’ve learned all we need to know from them.** 

* * * 

The human pack was restless following the murder of the newborn, but it seemed fear of Ororik was enough to keep the peace. No one offered comfort to Tallal or Essanassi, who grieved in silence, terrified to console each other and invite further punishment. 

“Why do they not turn against him?” Spar asked helplessly. “Why do they tolerate them as their chief?” 

“Perhaps they think the alternative is worse,” Redlance said. 

The humans patrolled wide looking for food. A fat deer might soothe their chief’s temper. The elves watched helplessly, too nervous to sleep, as the hunters marched under their very trees. 

**Den-hide,** Redlance said. **No one leaves the Holt.** 

They waited all day, sleeping fitfully. When Redlance finally drifted asleep, he overslept, and by the time he awoke it was already late at night. The humans were still awake, restless as ever. No one, it seemed, wanted to turned their backs on Ororik. 

At midnight, the last of the hunters fell asleep. But now Ororik himself was up and moving. He kindled the campfire and hunched over it, eyeing his followers nervously. 

When Redlance returned to the Holt, he found Strongbow gathering his bow and arrows. Moonshade was shouldering her own bow. 

“What are you doing?” Redlance asked. 

**Hunting,** Strongbow sent. 

“No,” Redlance shook his head. “No, you can’t. Not with the humans in a foul mood, jumping at shadows. One false step, one snapped twig and we’ll have the humans on our trail.” 

“We need meat in our bellies to think clearly,” Moonshade argued. 

**Aye. We cannot sit on the branches and grow mould,** Strongbow sent. 

“I say we keep the den-hide,” Redlance said. 

**Keep the den-hide! Hide from the humans! Run from the humans! Run from a band of eleven mangy beasts! We should slay them all now.** 

“Yes,” Moonshade nodded. “I would have counselled caution while the infant lived. But now... they have proven themselves as dangerous as a wolfpack seized with the foaming sickness. We cannot live side by side with them.” 

Redlance frowned. “First you say you want to hunt food. Now you want to hunt humans!” 

Nightfall drew to her lifemate’s side. “Have you forgotten there is still a child among them. And an innocent grieving mother.” 

**What do they matter to us? Only our tribe matters! Our kind! Our home! I will not sit back and let us be driven from home again.** 

“And had you run to war against the humans back at Father Tree, do you really think you would have saved the forest?” Redlance asked. “Strongbow, we cannot rush to anger. We must–” 

**WAIT? Wait to be slain as we sleep in the daylight. Wait - some times cannot wait, treeshaper! A tribe needs food and I will find it! I will do something – something more than sitting about, yapping and shivering and doing nothing!** With that Strongbow turned his back on Redlance and strode down a tree branch. Moonshade followed demurely. 

**STOP!** The force of his sending brought Strongbow up short. 

**You will not go!** Redlance jogged down the branch to catch up with him. **You will obey your chief and remain here. And I am your chief, Strongbow.** 

**And I am your elder!** Strongbow retorted. 

**An elder does not make a leader, Strongbow–** 

**Nor does a weak heart!** 

**– And as you swore to follow me when we left the Great Holt –** 

**I trusted Swift’s wisdom – but now I question it.** 

Redlance squared his shoulders. He stretched himself taller and looked Strongbow square in the eyes. “Do you challenge me?” he growled. 

Strongbow stood firm, locking eyes with him. Moonshade and Nightfall could only watch as the two engaged in a silent battle of wills. Fear flashed in Moonshade’s eyes. Fear for Strongbow, or for Redlance? She backed away, towards Nightfall, and averted her eyes to show that she meant no challenge. 

As soon as it begun, it was over. Strongbow and Redlance both staggered backwards. For an instant longer the victor of the challenge was still unknown. Then Strongbow lowered his head and turned away. 

“Beloved?” Nightfall hastened to Redlance’s side. **Ulm?** 

Redlance nodded discreetly to show he was all right. “Strongbow,” he said. “I know you’re restless. But we cannot just run into their midst. We cannot. You know that. In your heart, you know that. We have to keep the den-hide for now. We have to wait.” 

Strongbow nodded miserably. He turned and hiked back to his den. Moonshade followed. **Ulm?** Nightfall asked. **Are you...?** 

**I’m fine. Go back to your den. I’ll... I need to clear my head.** 

“I’ll come with you,” Nightfall whispered. 

“No. I... I need to be alone. I need to think.” 

Nightfall furrowed her brow, but at length she nodded. Redlance left the Wolfriders in at the Holt and climbed higher into the trees. From a little perch he watched as Nightfall reluctantly returned to her den. Soon everyone had retired to more fitful rest and worry. 

Redlance shivered. Strongbow’s sending stars continued to ring in his head. He felt the archer’s pain, his anger, his frustration. Strongbow had all a warrior’s rage, and the conviction of one who desperately yearns to lead. 

But his path would doom them. Redlance knew it. They could not lash out in anger. 

And yet they could not keep hiding. They could not run. 

He didn’t know why he did, but soon he was crawling through the trees, back to the perch overlooking the human encampment. Now at last Ororik was beginning to sleep, still siting in front of the fire, his chin bobbing against his collarbone. 

The dying firelight made the dried blood on the rock shine. How could they camp there? How could they sleep only a few paces away from the site of murder? 

I hope you have nightmares, Redlance thought darkly. 

And then another thought struck him. 

He dropped down to the ground, silent as a falling leaf. Slowly he crept closer to Ororik, until he crouched on the opposite side of the fire. 

“Hssshh,” he called. 

Nervous as he was, Ororik was a light sleeper. He awoke instantly, and let out a hiss of fright as he saw the point-eared creature that seemed wreathed in fire. 

“Ororik,” Redlance whispered. 

Ororik clutched his fur wrap more tightly about his broad shoulders. “Threkahn?” 

Redlance nodded slowly. “Essa. Threk-kahn.” 

“Ke? Umsa marr tu ahsayan?” 

Redlance drew his hand through the air, banishing the Tall One’s babbling. “Threk-kahn gah-tah Ororik!” 

Ororik shook his head. “Threkahn... menno tall?” he whispered. He held up his hands, palms out, and bowed to the creature in the fire. “Menno? Say assahn nu-nay assi? Menno?” he implored, his hands held out. 

Redlance didn’t know the words, but he guessed the meaning easily enough. Drawing himself tall, he pointed to the bloodstained rock. “Gah-tah! Gah-tah, Ororik!” 

“Eida, eida...” Ororik pleaded. “Eida nu gatar.” 

“Oh-war-ay cha!” Redlance snapped, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture, pointing south. “Oh-war-ay cha! Or...” he pointed to the rock again. “Ororik....” he said meaningfully, then drew a hand across his throat. 

Ororik let out a cry of horror. 

Redlance kicked the fire, stirring up sparks. Before Ororik could get to his feet, before the other humans could rise from their beds, Redlance had bounded back into the trees. 

“Eida! Eida!” Ororik screamed into the night. 

* * * 

Redlance crept back into his den. Nightfall sat up on the furs, embroidering a little headband for Spar, who was sitting at her side, observing her technique. Both looked up when Redlance entered. 

“Did you look in on the humans?” Spar asked. “I can hear them screaming from here.” 

Redlance shrugged. “Humans... who can understand them? The big one started wailing... screaming at his sons. Now they’re all chattering. Maybe slaying the child gave him bad dreams.” 

* * * 

The next day, the humans had broken camp. Tyldak and Dewshine watched from the trees as the humans slowly trekked down the mountain and into the lowlands. Two days later, the Glider and his mate returned, reporting that the humans were still travelling due south. 

Redlance and Strongbow crouched on the branch overlooking the remnants of the human camp. The offending rock, stained with the blood of the nameless infant, had been removed and buried by Strongbow and One-Eye. The ashes of the campfire had been scattered. Thorny Mountain was once again home to elves alone. 

**Well... you said they would leave in time,** Strongbow admitted. 

“We were lucky.” 

**I still marvel Swift chose you. But... you’ve earned your lock, treeshaper.** 

“Thank you, Strongbow. It means a lot, coming from you.” 

**If I had won the challenge, I would led us into an attack on the human camp. I would have played demon for those five-fingers and driven them out by spearpoint. I could not stomach sitting on my rump and waiting! But you were right. We were patient and we saved the tribe.** 

Redlance was silent, seemingly lost in thought. At length Strongbow sighed audibly. **Well. Let’s hope the young wolves gut their chief in the night.** 

“Let’s hope,” Redlance agreed. 

Strongbow turned back into the trees and began his climb back to the Holt. **Wonder what finally lit a fire under their rumps?** he mused as he disappeared under the canopy of leaves. 

Redlance smiled softly.


End file.
